“To the man for whom my bleeding heart yet retains its wonted affection, though the author of my guilt and misery, do I address my feeble complaint—O! Harrington, I am verging to a long eternity—and it is with difficulty I support myself while my trembling hand traces the dictates of my heart. Indisposed as I am—and unable as I feel to prosecute this talk—I however collect all my powers to bid you a long—a final farewel.
“OH! Harrington, I am about to depart—for why should I tarry here? In bitter tears of sorrow do I weep away the night, and the returning day but augments the anguish of my heart, by recalling to view the sad sight of my misfortunes. And have I not cause for this severe anguish, at once sorrow and disgrace of my family?—Alas! my poor mother!—Death shall expiate the crime of thy daughter, nor longer raise the blush of indignation on thy glowing cheek.—Ought I not, therefore, to welcome the hand of death?
“But what will become of my poor helpless infant, when its mother lies forgotten in the grave? Wilt thou direct its feet in the path of virtue and rectitude? Wilt thou shelter it from the rude blasts of penury and want?—Open your heart to the solicitude of a mother—of a mother agonizing for the future welfare of her child. Let me intreat you to perform this request—by the love which you professed for thy Maria—by her life which you have sacrificed.
“AND wilt thou not drop a tear of pity in the grave of thy Maria?—I know thy soul is the soul of sensibility; but my departure shall not grieve thee—no, my Harrington, it shall not wrest a sigh from thy bosom—rather let me live, and defy the malice and misery of the world—But can tenderness—can love atone for the sacrifices I have made?—Will it blot out my errours from the book of memory? Will love be an excuse for my crime, or hide me from the eye of the malignant—No, my Harrington, it will not. The passion is unwarrantable. Be it thine, gentle Amelia—be it thine to check the obtruding sigh, and wipe away the tear from his face—for thou art his wife, and thy soul is the seat of compassion—But—for me—
“Farewel—farewel forever!
MARIA.”
SHE survived but a short time—and frequently expressed a concern for the child—but Mrs. Holmes quieted her fears by promising to protect it. She accordingly made inquiry after it—and it is the same Harriot who was educated by her order, and whom she afterwards placed in the family of Mrs. Francis.
The assurances of my mother were like balm to the broken hearted Maria—“I shall now,” said she, “die in peace.”
THE following is a copy of a letter written by the Rev. Mr. Holmes to the Hon. Mr. Harrington:—
Belleview.